You Have To Work For It
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Carick AU. Oneshot. Relationships are one of those things that you have to work for. All of them. Carol/Rick, Carick, Carrick


**AN: Here we go. This is a scene from the Tumblr prompt that wanted Carol and Rick as nanny and single parent. I took some liberties.**

 **As always, I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"I wish I could give you more hours," Rick said. "But—it's really only some weekends and every now and again during the week."

Carol nodded her understanding. He'd been clear, when they'd talked on the phone, that the job was part time at best. He'd stressed it more than once. Really, he thought it was the kind of job that a teenager might want—someone picking up a couple of bucks for the mall. So he was surprised when Carol was insistent on at least meeting with him about it.

"Every little bit counts," Carol said. "I understand. It's a few hours, every now and again, but every bit counts."

Rick frowned at her. She was new in town. He asked for references, but really what did she have to give him as far as references went?

If she'd had all that? She probably could've gotten any number of jobs. As it stood? She had no credibility. She had no references. She had nobody.

But she did have the sense to see, in Rick's face, that he was as doubtful as anyone else that had interviewed her over the past few days—and she'd interviewed for everything from fry cook to waitress—and Carol was starting to fear that nothing was going to pan out for her.

"Please," she said, folding her hands on the table in front of her. "Please—give me this job? I know that it's not—OK—to beg. And I know that it might hurt my chances, but I've got to do something. You want references? That's my daughter over there..."

Carol gestured in the direction of the booth where her daughter was sitting, eating the meal that would be her dinner for the night. Carol had requested that Rick meet her there so that Sophia could be present, but not present. At least, here, Sophia could play while she waited on Carol. The other interviews she'd gone to? Sophia had to sit in a lobby, or somewhere equally uncomfortable, and try to draw no attention to herself.

"Please," Carol repeated. "I don't have any money. I have—nothing. The money that I took when I left my husband? It's almost gone. I had to scrape for what she's eating now. Anything—anything—is better than what I have."

Something changed in Rick's demeanor. Carol saw it when it crossed his face. She backed up in her seat a little because she recognized, too, that it hadn't changed entirely in her favor.

"You left your husband?" Rick asked.

Carol swallowed and nodded.

"And—took your daughter," he said, like he was reciting multiplication tables.

Carol nodded.

"But you can't feed her?" Rick asked.

Carol stared at him.

"I can feed her," she assured him. "But—I was hoping to get an honest job and not have to result to prostitution. Nobody in this town wants to give anyone a chance though, and I haven't worked before. Ed didn't want me to work."

Rick furrowed his brows.

"I'm a police officer," he said. "Prostitution is not an entertaining joke."

Carol raised her brows at him.

"I wasn't joking," she said. "I'll do what I have to do for my daughter to eat. And I'll do what I have to do to keep her away from him."

His expression changed again. It softened. Whatever had him on guard before had eased off, at least a little.

"You ended your marriage? Or he did?" Rick asked.

"Beg pardon?" Carol asked.

"Your marriage," Rick said. "Deciding to leave your husband. To take—your daughter away. Was that you or was it him?"

He sucked in a breath and Carol didn't interrupt him. Just as she suspected he would, he continued to speak.

"My wife," he said. "When she left? It was my fault. Everything that went wrong in our marriage? Of course. It was my fault. That's why—she left for my best friend."

He laughed to himself, but Carol didn't believe for a moment that it was sincere.

"She forgets that I've worked with him for six years," Rick said. "I know what he's like. When he's done? When he gets bored—it's not that interesting anymore?"

He didn't tell Carol what would happen, but she could guess. Instead, he simply stopped talking and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Carol said. "I am. About your wife? Your marriage."

He nodded.

"We couldn't work it out," Rick said. "After she got pregnant? We couldn't work it out. There was no working on it anymore. She was just fine working on it until the baby—his baby. You decide? After that many years of marriage? That there's just no more working on it?"

Carol sat there. She glanced quickly around them to see if they'd drawn the attention of anyone else and she checked briefly on Sophia with her eyes.

She wasn't sure if Rick was asking her or if he was just welcoming having an audience—one who hadn't been involved for his grief—but she responded to him at any rate.

"My husband said the same thing to me," Carol said. "In the emergency room. After he sent me there. It was my fault that I thought we couldn't work on it, because he still wanted to work on things. It was my fault—if I walked then? That the marriage fell apart. It didn't matter that I was on a first name basis with everyone that worked almost all the shifts there."

Rick looked at her. He looked a little sorry, but as soon as he spoke, Carol knew exactly what kind of man she was dealing with.

Rick Grimes was probably a good man, but he was a man who was so wrapped up in his own pain and suffering—in his own life experience—that he was barely aware that anyone else existed.

He shook his head at her.

"I never hit Lori," he said. "I never—touched her in any way that she didn't want to be touched."

Carol sighed and drank a sip from the water that she'd gotten from herself. She had a pretty good feeling that she wasn't going to get this job—pathetic as it was—and she wasn't feeling particularly generous at the moment.

"It's not always about what you do," Carol said. "Sometimes it's about what you don't do, too."

Rick looked at her and she shook her head.

"Don't get defensive," she said. "I don't know your life and I don't know your situation. But what I do know a thing or two about is a doomed marriage. Sometimes? It wasn't right from the start. And you can work on it—you can fight for it. But if it's just not right? It's never going to be right."

"You can always work on it," Rick said.

Carol hummed.

"But it takes two," she said. "One person working on it? It's not going to get you anywhere."

She stopped and then started again, shrugging as she added to and amended her statement.

"Except maybe to the emergency room," Carol said.

"Our marriage wasn't perfect," Rick admitted. "But—it wasn't doomed. And nobody was going to the emergency room."

"What'd your wife say?" Carol asked.

Rick stared at her. Carol shrugged again.

"You don't have to tell me," she said. "You brought it up. I didn't. I thought you might want to talk about it. But if you don't? That's fine too. I'm not that invested."

"She said I didn't listen to her," Rick said. "We didn't communicate enough."

Carol laughed to herself and he changed his expression.

"You're a little self-absorbed," Carol said in response to his facial expression. "Maybe we all are. Maybe that's just being human—but..."

She never finished her "but" statement because, even though she said it, she wasn't really sure if there actually was a "but" to it at all.

"She cheated on me with my best friend," Rick said. "That's why our marriage ended."

"Maybe," Carol admitted. "Maybe that's exactly where it ended. Maybe—your marriage was over for her because she cheated. Or, maybe—and I mean, just maybe—she cheated because your marriage was over for her."

"You're taking up for her?" Rick asked, now incredulous.

Carol wasn't getting this job. She still hadn't heard back about the fry cook job, though, and she thought that she might have a chance at the bar that she'd interviewed with. They weren't ideal positions, but they were steady money. It would be something to keep food on the table while she looked for something better.

This one? It wasn't going to keep her going anyway. It wasn't that great a loss, she supposed.

"I'm not taking up for anyone," Carol said. "I'm just saying that—sometimes it's better to know when something is over. Sometimes it's better to just—let it go. It's the not letting go that gets people hurt. I should've left a long time ago. I know that now. I learned not to hold on to something that I knew, in my heart, wasn't what I wanted and wasn't worth the holding onto—not to me. Maybe she knew that earlier. Maybe—she went with it when she felt it."

"I loved my wife," Rick said.

Carol shook her head slightly.

"I don't doubt you did," Carol said. "In your way. But maybe your way, and her way? Maybe they didn't match?"

"I love my son. I loved my family," Rick said.

Carol nodded at that.

"I'm sure you do, and you did," Carol said. "Sometimes? People love their families—but maybe they love the idea of their families more than they love...more than the nitty gritty details of what that means. Of what it takes."

Rick shook his head.

Carol quickly offered him a smile and stood up. She shook her head at him in a mirror action of what he was doing.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry about your wife. I'm sorry about—your family. It's not my place. And I'm sure that—you're going to find someone else. And you're going to have your son and you're going to have..."

She stopped and shook her head again.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'm really not the right person to talk about this. Not right now. Not—I'm just getting my life back together. I'm..."

She stopped again and this time, when she shook her head, she took that as the end of the conversation.

"Thank you," she said. "For your time. And—I hope? The next time I see you? You're not arresting me for prostitution."

She laughed a little at her own joke. She laughed, a little, because she wasn't certain how much of it was really going to be a joke. Not at the rate she was going.

Rick got up too, like any man who'd been trained to be a gentleman might when a woman left the table—even if it was a fast food joint—and Carol was a little flattered by the action.

"I may have misjudged you," she offered quietly, apologetic for her criticism. "I'm sorry, if I did. It's just—it hasn't been easy."

She turned to dismiss herself, not knowing what else to say to the man, and she stopped when she felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder. Many times in her life, that was an unwelcomed weight. Many times, she turned back without knowing quite what to expect. It had a different feeling to it this time. She turned back.

"You—uh—did misjudge me," Rick said. "Maybe—at least a little bit. It hasn't been easy for me either. I'm still getting used to the idea of it all. The idea that—my marriage is over and my son is...part time. I'm still learning how to be Rick without being Rick and Lori."

Carol swallowed and nodded.

"I understand," she said. "But you don't have to explain."

Rick glanced toward the play area where Sophia was playing with another child while their parents ate.

"I don't want to explain," Rick said. "I want—to ask you out to dinner. You and your daughter. A real dinner."

Carol tried to figure out her next move quickly. Finally, she shook her head.

"I don't—want to be the other half of Rick and Lori now that Lori's gone," Carol said. "So if that's..."

Rick cut her off before she could finish rejecting him entirely. He shook his head at her.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I meant—dinner. No strings attached. A good meal for the both of you. And then? Maybe later? If you wanted to, of course, there could be another dinner..."

He laughed.

"It's been a long time, but if I remember correctly, that's how this works, right? One dinner at a time? No contract up front?" Rick asked.

"I didn't come here looking for a relationship," Carol said. "I came looking for a job."

Rick smiled. It was a very sincere smile. It looked nice on him.

"I think I might know someone," he said. "A friend of mine. She's looking for someone—trustworthy and reliable. Someone to work as a secretary at her law office. Michonne's a real—straight shooter. I think she'd appreciate someone with your...honesty."

Carol smiled at him.

"Some people wouldn't have chosen to call it honesty," she said.

Rick nodded his head gently.

"Just dinner," he said. "And I'll call Michonne? After that—the ball's in your court. Call me or don't. It'll be your choice."

Carol glanced back toward the play area and spotted just the bottoms of Sophia's feet in spotted socks as she crawled through one of the multi-colored plastic tubes.

"What we're wearing," Carol said, "are the nicest clothes we've got."

"We'll work around that," Rick said.

"Dinner," Carol agreed, looking at him again. His nice smile returned. "But—just dinner."

"Dinner," he agreed again. "Then? You're in charge."

Carol wasn't sure if it was a good idea or not. And she might not be sure of it for some time. But she did know that she liked the sound of that. She'd never really felt in charge before. Arguably, she didn't really feel in charge of her life right now. The idea of being in charge of anything—no matter how temporary—didn't sound entirely unappealing.

And a real dinner would be good for both she and Sophia. Not to mention that she couldn't turn down his assistance in getting a job—not in a town where it seemed you needed that sort of thing to get anywhere.

"I like the sound of that," Carol said, nodding at him. "You'll pick us up?"

Rick smirked at her, an expression that she hadn't seen in the gamut that he'd run throughout their conversation.

"Just as long as it's not on a street corner," he confirmed, stepping out of the way as he anticipated the playful swat that Carol couldn't help but offer him.

This new town might not be so bad, after all.


End file.
